


in pursuit of loyalty

by KeeperofSeeds



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Face-Fucking, High Chaos (Dishonored), High Chaos Corvo Attano, High Chaos Week 2017, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Manipulation, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Self-Harm, Sexual Content, The Author Regrets Everything, Unhealthy Relationships, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-16 06:02:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11247804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeeperofSeeds/pseuds/KeeperofSeeds
Summary: Corvo and the Loyalists and their extremely unhealthy dynamics and some potential fucked up interactions that could result in High Chaos world. These ficlets are for High Chaos Week 2017Mind the tags





	1. Admiral Havelock

**Author's Note:**

> I was ever so slightly inspired by this line from NeverwinterThistle's awesome fic [Sleepless](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1117813) :  
> "Lydia pursues you, Martin considers pursuing you, and Havelock would willingly do a great many things to keep you loyal."
> 
> Except that fic is kind of sweet and my brain went ooo, write it for High Chaos Week instead! Twist it and make it grimdarkbad.

Havelock retreated to his rooms after Corvo had returned triumphant. High Overseer Campbell was dead, his black book in their hands, and Teague Martin on his way to join them. The thrill of victory, even an indirect one sang in his veins. It mixed well with the pleasure of good whiskey and target practice. His pistols were still warm in his palms as he made to place them on his desk to be cleaned later.

Before he could do so, the click of the door registered and he reflexively clutched his guns tight until he saw the man of the hour slip in.

"Corvo! I'd thought you'd be heading up to bed. You'll need to rest up. As soon as Martin arrives he'll help us decode Campbell's book and plan our next move. We're getting close, I can feel it." He moved to relax again, pushing his guns aside and picking up his drink, the cool sweat of the glass leaving a mark behind on his desk.

Corvo hadn't moved from his position by the door. He stood hunched over, mask in hand, his eyes moving over the room as if searching for Overseers hidden in the corners or behind the cabinets.

Ah.

Havelock sighed quietly. He'd seen this in men before. Men too long at sea or those locked away from the normality of society. Grown mad with the isolation, they looked only over their shoulder, expecting threats in the friendliest faces.  
It wasn't exactly surprising that months spent in Coleridge had changed the Royal Protector…but they needed him well enough to do business. Well enough not to snap and accidentally stab one of the help while staying here.

This would take an controlled touch. Like working with an injured hound.  
He stands, keeping his own hands visible, one hand around the glass and the other reaching out, beckoning,

"Come have a drink at least Corvo. You deserve it."

Corvo slowly eases off the wall, and reaches out for the half empty glass. His hands are steady at least, so he isn't too far gone yet. Havelock raises an impressed eyebrow when the man takes a large gulp and his only reaction is a heavy exhale.  Corvo hums in thanks and after another sip, holds the glass back out.

He steps closer and instead of taking the glass back, he circles a hand around Corvo's wrist, twisting the hand slightly, careful not to spill the drink. His other hand inches up the ragged sleeve, brushing over the edge of a burn that must have been a misfire from his modified gun.

Havelock is a man used to taking risks. He takes a chance now, brings the hand and glass up to his mouth and runs his tongue between the man's fingers, licking the condensation from the glass and from between his fingers, tasting an edge of salt and grit.

Corvo snaps. He pulls back, dropping the now mostly empty glass between them, and reaches out with his other hand, blackened fingers scrambling along the Admiral's jacket for sturdy purchase. Havelock reels back, hand raised to ward off a blow, expecting hands around his neck, but none comes.

Instead he is yanked forward and Corvo attacks his neck in a different way. He begins sucking hard at the edge of his jaw, along the line of stubble. His hands pull at layers and his hips have already begun to roll in small jerky motions.

Well then. This is certainly unexpected. He didn't think the man had it in him. Havelock doesn't respond,  allowing Corvo to suck bruises while thinking over the ramifications of taking this further.

On one hand this _could_ make the man easier to control. Make him more likely to want to please. The Royal Protector was used to taking orders, used to serving someone. He wonders for a moment if he serviced the Empress in this way before quickly dismissing the thought. That's not important. What's important in the mission. Their little conspiracy here and now. If this will make the man more willing to stay and follow orders, he will gladly be the one to take a firm hand to their Assassin.  
This certainly wasn't what he'd expected when they all gathered below and made plans to break the former Lord Protector out from Colderidge, but it wasn't like the man could get _more_ reckless.

Decision made, he reaches out wrapping his hands around bony hips, pulling Corvo closer, listening to the answer groan roll up from deep in the man's chest. He feels those hands, the hands that deal out death, clutch at him, nails digging in, finding their way under his heavy coat. They dig in, short nails grasping and pulling to get at the skin underneath.

Corvo is like a wolfhound made flesh, fierce and biting beneath him. His teeth scrap down  Havelock's neck as he pulls him close, hands gripping hard enough to bruise.

He can't help but compare the man here with the man he'd glimpsed in earlier days of the Empire.  
The Lord Protector Before had been a quiet and reserved man, a strong fighter, fiercely protective of his charges yes…but never like this. Now Corvo is a man transformed. His hair tangled and unbound, his body scarred, changed by months torture and starvation. He lives each day as if to spite the men who would blame him for the Empress' death. He seems to take no delight in leaving a trail of bodies on each mission, coming back to the Hound Pits smelling of brine and  gun smoke,  leaving smears of blood behind him. Havelock can see traces of dried blood still on the man's scuffed boots. Hit flits between numbness and madness and Havelock is not sure what this is, but he needs to take control of it fast.

 

He steps backwards, pulling Corvo with him, until his back finds a space of wall. His hands stop the movement of Corvo's hips. He's breathing heavy already and Havelock hasn't even begun touching him in earnest yet. Oh yes, this will definitely be enjoyable he thinks to himself, falling more firmly into his decision. Their Assassin had only been in need of a firm guiding hand. Too long had they left him alone to his own devices, holed up in his attic room doing who knows what, with that cursed mark of his being the only thing to focus on besides his despair.

He places a hand on Corvo's shoulder, pressing slowly until the man falls to his knees. Yes. This is just what the man needs. A firm hand to guide him, to offer up orders to follow.

Corvo doesn't move for his kneeling position, his hands twitch at his sides, as if unsure what to do.

Havelock slowly reaches down and begins unlacing his trousers and pushing back the heavy line of his long coat.

"Touch me, Corvo," he says, and he tips his head back against the wall to wait.

Three breaths later a hand slides up the outside of his thigh to hold at hip.

Havelock waits another two breathes before reaching down and drawing himself out. Corvo stares, breathing heavily as Havelock slowly moves his hand down his cock and up again, thumbing at the tip to gather the moisture there.

Corvo seems frozen now, after his initial attack. That won't do at all.

Havelock removes his hand and reaches out to press it against Corvo's lips. The tongue that laps at his finger is slow and thourough, but that isn't what he wants. He drags his thumb back with a pop and fists Corvo's hair with his damp hand. He pulls his mouth where he wants it. Finally, _finally_ , Corvo is moved to action. Those plush lips stretching over his girth in stuttering yet eager movements. He doesn't let up the grip in Corvo's hair, unwilling to give up control. A quick, hard release it what he needs. A firm hand is what Corvo needs. That he can do both at once pleases him and he pulls Corvo faster, the man's choked off moan adding to his pleasure.

To have the Assassin submit like this, to take what he's given, it's more heady than the brandy split out on the floor.

Havelock feels himself drawing close, and he lets his head fall back against the wall, hips jerking faster, racing toward release, but before he can reach that peak, Corvo's hand reaches up and grips his balls tight, holding his back.

"Fuck fuck _fuck!_ " He head jerks back in surprise, the dull thud against the wall almost drowned out by Corvo's harsh breathing and a low, rasping chuckle.

The skittish numbness and paranoia from earlier are gone. The man before him now looks almost…devious, even from his position on his knees.

Nothing like sex to bring a man back from the edge Havelock thinks. Best not let the man get too full of himself however, _he_ isn't the one in charge here.

Corvo wipes his mouth with a dirty hand, but before he can resume his position Havelock backhands him. The hit is solid, and Corvo's head follows the blow. When he turns his head back, there is a line of blood trickling down his chin. His tongue darts out to lick at it, and Havelock feels his cock twitch at the sight. Corvo notices the movement as well and smirks like any girl down at the Cat. He settles back firmly on his knees and says, "Again."

This time the blow rocks his head the opposite direction. Corvo's face is flushed now, whether from the slaps or from the lessening of oxygen from his acts before. It's glorious. Havelock can't hold back any longer. His hand finds his cock again, pulling faster and faster. "Don't move," he grits out between clenched teeth and Corvo makes an aborted move forward. His lips fall open in surprise at the command, but he stills.

"Just like that," Havelock says and feels that peak approaching once more. With a low, drawn out groan, he comes. His seed streaking over Corvo's face, dripping down to mix with the smears of blood still on his chin.

Corvo doesn't wait for him to stop stroking, he lunges forward, eager to fill his mouth still more, his own hand stuffed down the front of his trousers. Havelock grabs at his hair one last time and slows the roll of his hips and the aftershocks run through him. He grips hard, doesn't let Corvo retreat, and feels the twitch of his throat around his cock. He holds there for long moment, before relenting. Corvo moans around his cock and it's almost too much now but the man is close. His eyes are closed and his face is stained and all he can do now is rest his forehead against Havelock's hip as his hips buck in short movements against his hand until he too comes with a grunt of pleasure. It almost makes Havelock wish he were a younger man. But then again there is nothing stopping him from initiating this sort of act again. If this unexpected act was enough to shake Corvo from his inward focus than surely anything more would only help. They needed him in top condition after all. Not wallowing alone in the attic.

Havelock tucked himself back into his trousers and made his way back over to his desk to fetch a new glass. He fills it and salute the Royal Protector, who is now sitting pressed against the wall, looking thoroughly fucked.

"We should do this again, Corvo."

Yes…some pleasure with this business of theirs was just what was needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This actually ended up less dark than I expected. Instead of a KILL EVERYONE IN SIGHT HC type Corvo I had this idea of his just retreating inward and feeling distance and numb as he killed his way through targets to get Emily back. He's still causing chaos throughout the city, but there's more passive acceptance of the violence and horrible state of Dunwall and it's citizens here early in the game.


	2. Trevor Pendleton

Corvo's eyes followed Emily as she walked up the stairs behind Callista. Now they he'd found her he didn't want to let her out of his sight. Jessamine though he remembered, Jessamine had been very insistent that they wouldn't smother the poor child. It would be too easy she'd once said, to curtain her off from the world, cushion her inside away from anything and anyone. An Empress had to know her people, Jessamine had insisted. She mustn't be overly spoiled or afraid of new experiences.  
Corvo let his hand drift to the heart in his breast pocket and let his eyes fall shut, his promise to avenge Jessamine ringing in his ears.

He's shocked out of his memories by the Admiral. He loomed, as usual, and his congratulatory handshake was firm. He never seemed to mind the blood or filth Corvo picked up in his missions.   

"…in one night you've done more than most men have in a lifetime," he was saying, not releasing Corvo's hand. "I'll need to speak to you soon, but for now, Lord Pendleton needs your attention."

Strange, Corvo thought, that the man would want to see his brothers' murderer so soon after the act. Morgan Pendleton's blood was still damp on his jacket and pant leg. The humidity of the steam room had made the pool of blood from Morgan's cut throat spread faster than he'd anticipated, and he'd been careful to keep to the iron support structures and walkways along the way to avoid a trail behind him.

Now he walked slowly up the steps to the tower that would become Emily's. Lord Trevor Pendleton stood at the rear of the building, looking out over the water and occasionally rubbing one long fingered hand over his face.

He turns when he hears Corvo's heavy step on the stone and speaks, his voice heavy, "Corvo, the Loyalist Conspiracy thanks you for your work, but I don't know if I can. My own brothers…" he trails off, his hand rising again, this time to press, trembling, against his mouth.

Corvo waits. The silences stretches, only broken by the call of gulls and the steady rhythm of the waves.

"Don't you have anything to say for yourself?" Pendleton finally snaps, glaring at Corvo. "No half assed apologies or justifications for murdering my brothers?"

Corvo stays silent. Pendleton strides closer. " _Say something!_ " he demands and raises his hand as if to strike the former Lord Protector.

Corvo catches his arm easily. Holds back the slim, smooth hand that's never seem an honest  day's work and watches Pendleton's noble features twist ever further. He lashes out with his foot next and the angle is awkward enough that he connects before Corvo can back away. He begins to buckle and Pendleton uses his momentum to pull him forward and crash their lips together. He bites at Corvo's lips and slithers his free hand down to palm at the bulge in Corvo's trousers.

"Yessss," he hisses. "I've seen your stares. Heard the stories. You despise the nobility. I bet you enjoyed going after my brothers." He moves his hand and bucks his hips up against Corvo's leg, before leaning closer to whisper in his ear. "I heard all about how you threw Morgan out on his ass for insulting the Empress."

Corvo stiffens.

"Ah," Pendleton says, smirking. "How long have you imagined this? Did you think of bending them over and fucking respect into them? Did you want your Empress to watch you force them to their knees in front of her while you-." His voice cut off with a hiss of pain as Corvo twisted the wrist still in his grasp.

"If you want to be able to continue raising drinks to your mouth I suggest you stop that line of thought."

Pendleton only reverts to another topic. "Come now Lord Protector," he sneered the former title, "since you are a man of so few words, show me what you feel. How did you _long_ to punish them?"

He breathed heavily, waiting, until slowly, so slowly, his wrist was released.

Pendleton frowned, thinking the Lord Protector would retreat now, leaving him angry and unfulfilled. He turns to search for one of the cheap half empty wine bottles he'd set down when he was shoved backward. Large hands gripping his jacket lapels and pushing him back step by step to the stone railing.  He felt his heart race. Maybe he'd pushed too far, maybe Corvo would end things here and now and he would join his brothers in their fate.

But no. Corvo shoving his down with a hand on his back, and Pendleton quickly caught on, reaching out to hold himself up on the stone ledge.

Corvo, satisfied he was staying put, attacked his trousers, barely undoing the laces before yanking them down to his knees. Large hands massages thighs and buttocks and Pendleton lets his neck relax and head fall forward. This is what he wanted. This is what he deserves. He needs to feel the same pain his brother's felt. So many years trailing one step behind them and he wouldn't stop now.

He hisses as a finger breaches him, and flinches forward before stilling his hips. Then the Lord Protector leans forward and pulls his shirt down, a rip at the seam opening up as he bites a mark into the skin of his shoulder, ignoring Pendleton's yelp of surprise.

"This is what you wanted Lord Pendleton. Remember."

The dangerous energy that surrounds him is ratcheting higher as another finger is added, the dry burn of it stings. Pendleton relishes it.

"More," he demands pushing back, but it's a mistake. His face is slammed down into the rail, the force of the blow rattling through his teeth, and he can feel a line of blood begin to make its way from the side of his face down, down to stain his collar. A hand in his hair tilts his face back and a hot wet stripe halts its process and stunned as he is, it takes Pendleton a moment to recognize that Corvo is _licking_ _the blood_ from his face.

Corvo grins, looking more like the feral hounds that sometimes fight for scraps in the city, then pushes their lips together again, forcing Pendleton to taste his own blood between those lips.

"You'll take what I give you, Pendleton," Corvo says, and pushes in. Pendleton groans loudly, only to have Corvo's hand quickly find him mouth and stifle the sounds.  

Pendleton winces and frees his mouth enough to continue his commentary.

"Ashamed of what you're doing Lord Protector? Scared to stand behind your actions?' He grunts as Corvo pulls out slowly and slams back in, rocking them both forward. " You Serks never were good for more than this, killers and whores, all of you! You must have felt right at home at the Cat you-"

" _Shut. Up._ " Corvo growls and pulls their hips closer and the new angle makes Pendleton's knees shake. He wants to push back, to take his pleasure but he can't. Not yet. He doesn't deserve it. That not the point of this.

He reaches back, grabbing at Corvo, reaching past torn and filthy layers to makes sure the man's attention is here. Making sure he's in this moment as much as Pendleton is.

"Is this how you killed them?" he hisses, digging his nails into Corvo's thigh as he pulled him even closer. "Did you sneak in behind them, balls deep in some whore and ugh-" his words are cut off as Corvo places one large hand around his neck and squeezes. A warning. But Pendleton can see it in his mind's eye now, can imagine the opulent rooms at Golden Cat, the haze of smoke, and the smell of sex.

"Did they even see you coming Corvo? Or did you stab them in back while they released you sorry excuse for a-" the hand on his neck tightens again and Pendleton welcomes it. That was it, it had to be. He'd gotten too close to the truth. Now for one last barb, one his brothers would have been proud of.

"Did you think of her face?" he rasps out. "Did you think about your Empress watching you take your vengeance? Imagine how hot it would have-" guk. He chokes for a moment but manages to finish the barb, "-would made her." The hands shift and squeeze steadily and Pendleton smirks even as spots take over his vision. He's close now, so close. The punishment taking its toll. His body starts to twitch feebly, fighting for air and as he feels darkness pulling him under Corvo suddenly releases him and drops his hands to pound into him in short fast strokes. The euphoric rush of air mixes with the sensation of Corvo's cock and he barely is able to reach a still half numb hand down to palm himself before he's coming, moaning like a girl at the Cat would, but this is no performance. He feels lightheaded with the power of his orgasm, still twitching around Corvo's silent thrusts, his bruising grip the only sign of emotion. Without warning Corvo pulls out and pushes. Pendleton strumbles with his trousers still hanging around his thighs and falls to his knees on the stone. Corvo yanks him around to face him one handed and then grips Pendleton's hair, forcing his neck back. His other hand pumps himself, the flushed head of his cock barely visible between the punishing strokes. Pendleton knows what's happening a moment before it does. There's only enough time to close his eyes before the Lord Protector is groaning low and coming, wet streaks hitting Pendleton's cheeks and chin.

The hand in his hair releases and he sways back, body still overwhelmed with sensation and the simple added delight of breathing damn ocean air. By the time he opens his eyes, Corvo is gone. The cooling sticky sensation of release on his face and a bloodied handkerchief tossed to the stone near him the only signs he'd been there at all.  

Pendleton tries to clear his throat but only coughs. He stands to pull his trousers back into some semblance of propriety and reaches for a half empty bottle nearby, not even caring where it's from. Then he gingerly sits and grabs to dirtied handkerchief to wipe at his face. Blood from his forehead and Corvo's seed mix on the scrap of cloth.

It's his head, Pendleton thinks, that bump on the head was the reason it takes him so long to recognize the fabric in his hand. To see the small embroidered P in the lower left corner.

He drops it, hand shaking, but can't let go this one last piece of his brothers, however morbid a memento the Lord Protector thought it.

It was probably Morgan's he thinks. He was the more pretentious, the one more concerned with details.

He feels hysterical laughter bubbling up from his chest and he talks a large sip of the bottle, letting the pain of swallowing draw him back to the present.

Then he throws the bottle at the bottom of the cursed tower. The tower where their new Empress will soon be sleeping soundly, having been freed from his own family's twisted ambitions.  Anger tastes bitter on his tongue. Anger at his brothers for being so obvious in their greed and ambition, anger at himself for his failure to reach them, and anger at the thrice cursed whoreson of a Regent for throwing the city into chaos and forcing them on this path in the first place!

All the mediocre wine in the Hound Pits wouldn't be enough to wash the taste of blood out of his mouth tonight, but it certainly won't stop him from trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wrote this one before the first chapter, but then I figured I should try to go in order of the game Missions, even though I don't really considered these chapters as continuations of each other.


End file.
